


Pieces Of A Whole

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even months after the mercenaries were all fired, he still showed up at her door with dreams of reassembling the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces Of A Whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RAXip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAXip/gifts).



> tf2promptfest: Miss Pauling/Scout - Hanging on. Near the end of the first installment of Ring of Fired, Miss Pauling says "Scout will show up on his own." I took that to mean he had been visiting her all in those 6 months. Consider it the fic counterpart to [this](http://yourunderwaterskies.tumblr.com/post/61636940850/scoutll-turn-up-on-his-own-i-cant-help-but) bit of metaing.
> 
> To fit in with the nature of the series, all the medical aspects is of the deus ex machina Australium variety. I actually attempted to make it accurate, then I remembered that the series regularly thumbs its nose in the face of physics, history, and medical practice of all kinds and just went with Australium to be consistent.
> 
> The original series of Star Trek aired between 1966-1969, but for artistic liberty (aka, the boys watching some Star Trek) I pushed it a little farther. Either that or Teufort airs reruns and they got late into the game. Either or. Also, while answering machines harken back to the late 1800s as far as origins go, developments came from the 30s-40s, the first commercial devices didn't come until the 1960s. They didn't actually become popular until the 80s, however. ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Answering_machine )
> 
> The Pinball machine referenced ( http://www.pinpedia.com/machine/550 )
> 
> For and betaed by Multiversecafe.

It was in a small bungalow in Teufort where she ended up, a fixer upper filled with dust and broken boards, windows with just a slight crack. 

In the end, she couldn't let the Badlands go.

She got a temp job as a secretary, and in her off time, she learned to fix things. Back in the day, she would've simply asked Engineer to fix whatever had gone wrong in her quarters.

Or Scout, as he was always looking for a way to help her. He could be quite handy, too, as long as it was limited to only following directions and not trying to make sense of schematics.

Now, it was just her and too much time to fill. She was so used to saying no to dinner with coworkers, both friendly and romantic, to shutting anyone from getting close that she barely knew what to do with herself.

But Miss Pauling never let herself brood for long. If she couldn't lose herself in the work of TF Industries, then she would lose herself in filing, in fixing a small home into something more, until she was too exhausted to think, and tell herself that she wasn't waiting for her past to come back to her.

*

She shifted the groceries. She'd caught the hint of the red shirt long before she'd come close enough to speak. She'd guessed long before she knew; it'd only been a matter of time.

Everything in her had been degrees of waiting, and he was first, the one who would never entirely leave.

He was sitting on her porch, his feet against the post. He leaned back and wobbled for a moment, almost falling over. As she bent to catch him, he righted himself, smiling up at her. He'd been sunning himself like a cat on her doorstep.

"Miss P! It took me ages, but you were right here all along!"

"Yeah, I helped Soldier move in, but it put me in the frickin' hospital. I ain't found Demoman yet, but I'm goin' to see him eventually." 

"Sniper probably went back to Australia, huh?" Scout made a sour face and crossed his arms in irritation. "Ugh, what am I supposed to do? Run across the frickin' ocean?"

"Most would take a plane," she said.

"Not a fan of planes. Bein' in that cramped little box ain't my kind of thing, you know?"

He got up, not bothering to brush himself off. At first, she thought he was reaching for her for a hug, but it was the bag he began to tug at the bag.

"C'mon, I can carry it. It's the least I can do."

The bag was filled with cans, heavy and unwieldily, so it was without any reluctance that she let go of the bag, and fished out a pair of keys from her purse.

"So, this your place, huh?"

"For now," she said.

"Pretty nice. I remember when this place was all closed down, but it's real great now. No surprise–you're always good at fixin' things," he said.

The door creaked loud behind them, the screen door catching on the wind and rocketing back hard enough to slam against the outer wall. 

"That never closes properly," she said. 

"I can fix it!" he said. He nearly dropped the bag in his enthusiasm, but he caught himself. "Uh, where you want these?"

"Underneath the sink, there's a cabinet in there, no, not there...there–"

It wasn't as if she had to watch over him, but she never missed a chance to micro manage. He put away each can with a soft clattering. She watched the muscles in his back move as he put the cans down there without order or thought, messing up her hours of organizing.

He turned back, and tossed up can after can in an attempt at juggling. The first he caught successfully, but the other three fell to the floor, and rolled away.

"At least you didn't try it with fruit this time," she said.

"Hey, I always learn from my mistakes," he said.

"Really?" she said, more than a little skeptic.

He knelt on the floor, the last can of mixed vegetables in hand.

"Yeah, it takes me more than once sometimes, but I learn."

She started to say something, but he cut her off.

"You're never a mistake, and you never goin' to be," he said.

Miss Pauling cleared her throat. "Actually, I was going to talk about your habit of stealing Heavy's sandwiches, even after he'd catch you and beat you to death with your own limbs," she said.

He chuckled at that. "What can I say? He had some _damn_ good sandwiches. Worth the threat of death, even. Most the time he couldn't even catch me, anyways."

When he grinned up at her, she noticed that there was blood on his teeth. At first, she thought he'd just gotten in another fight, as he was always picking fights, but the ring of bandages all down his arm and stained a deep red made her pause.

"Your mouth—"

"What? Oh, this little thing? It ain't nothin'." 

He quickly wiped at his mouth, the bandages across his hands stained with blood.

"Seriously, don't even look at it," he said, putting his arm behind his back in an forced attempt at being casual. 

She'd never seen Scout miss the chance to show off his scars. Even when he was in the infirmary, or nearly dead on the battlefield, he'd still put on a pose and try and act like the hero of the day.

"Open up," she said.

"That's playin' hardball, Miss P. I don't want you to see me lookin' uncool."

"Scout, I have seen you in _pieces,_ I've seen you huddled on the battlefield and begging for mercy and sucking your thumb. It's a bit late for that. Open up," she said.

He complied, albeit with reluctance. She knelt beside him, growing more pensive by the second. He had a never-ending capacity for getting himself into trouble, and some trouble it must be, if he wouldn't even try and pass it off as a big fight to impress her and have her patch him up.

She spotted two bloody ulcers in his mouth. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand. Just as she suspected.

Respawn kept him in check, though she'd had to remind him to take his tablets even back then. He would always give into her; it never even took much to convince him to do whatever she said.  
She always suspected he was forgetting simply to make her remind him.

Long ago, she had compiled their medicine to keep them all alive from the large dosages of radiation and exposure to refined Australium, but he was the one who had always fared the worst, from the constant exposure to Bonk. It had some truly horrific side effects, and without Respawn, it would destroy the person bit by bit.

How much had he consumed on the sly? 

"You've been drinking Bonk again," she said. Not a question, because she knew him, knew just how easily he'd get into trouble.

"What, _me_ –w-where would I even get it?" He laughed, too high and too nervous to be natural, and tugged at his shirt.

He never was a very good liar. All his emotions spilled out—anger, happiness, anxiousness. Just like his thoughts he was always invariably saying, sometimes even without realizing or meaning to.

She let silence say everything, coldly staring him down. He shifted, wincing as he leaned against the cabinet door, the handle digging into his back.

"Yeah, you see—Ahm––Look...I just had some left over, and it was a shame just to let it go to waste. I was just gonna feel like I was flyin' one more time. It never killed me before, so it wasn't like a couple would kill me now—"

" _A couple?_ Bonk has hundreds of times the radiation and sugar person should be able to withstand—" to say nothing of the refined Australium components unlisted in the ingredients, something so deadly that not even TFI let on what it did to the body.

"Aww, a little radiation never hurt anybody. It just turns you into superheroes, like the comics!"

"—the only reason you could tolerate it back then was Medic's inventions, Respawn and your constant medicine regimen—you've been a walking time bomb all this time—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know.... I did somethin' dumb again." He sighed, and took off his cap, running his bandaged hand through his messy dark blond hair. On this hand, she could see even more bloodstaining the bandage than she realized. Was his hair thinner? She couldn't quite tell.

"You shouldn't even be able to be walking—you should've dropped dead right away."

"Couldn't stay around gettin' weaker and havin' ma worryin' about me. So I kept runnin', even when I started bleedin'. If I could outrun the pain, it couldn't get me, you know?'

He laughed, humorless, and looked down as his cap as he continued.

"...and I wanted to see you one last time."

He trailed off, his voice growing quiet. "Am I gonna die for good this time, Miss P?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," she said.

"Man, you're great when you're all gung-ho and determined and crap, and you're always like that. You really do got a soft spot for me, huh?" he said.

"I care about the well-being of TF Industries' employees."

When she wasn't offing them, that was.

"I ain't company property no more," he said.

"Well, old habits die hard," she replied.

She had taken quite a bit with her when she left. Medicine, secret papers, databases. What she hadn't taken, she'd burned. What Gray Mann had essentially taken was a great deal of empty shells. The coding, the Respawn system and all the Australium had been dismantled long before he ever set foot in that room. 

"Hey, Miss Pauling...we ain't coworkers, that means—" 

"You're radioactive, remember?" 

"Yeah, that's just what I was sayin', you literally stole the words right out of my mouth! You could come be a super hero with me," Scout said. He was grinning lopsidedly at her, with blood running down his chin. "Crime wouldn't stand a chance with you around."

"We're more villains than heroes," she said.

"Okay, okay, we'll be super heroes who take over the world— _super villains_!"

"Maybe if the team were still together, but with TF Industries in shambles, there's no seeing something like that now."

"We still could, though. This whole thing is gonna fly on by, trust me on this, I totally got this."

He nodded, completely assured in his dreams. He always did have his head in the clouds, to the point where reality bent. He was always thinking of future heroic plots with him as the hero, and likely her as the romantic lead.

"For the record, I'm no sidekick," she said.

"Nah, you're the brains behind the whole operation," he said.

"I better be," she replied. "If you're leading this charge, we're both gonna die."

"Haha, I'll do whatever you say, and we'll save the day—Hey, that could be our catch phrase!"

She poured together the last of the mix. Some kind of witch's brew to detox him from the refined Australium. Respawn and a Medigun would be better still, but she couldn't do that any longer. Medic had taken his technologies with him, and the rest were currently dismantled where Gray Mann could never get them.

"Look up," she said.

He obeyed, and she gently rubbed the compound on his skin. His eyes were half-lidded, both in apparent pleasure and a hint of pain. Her thumb skimmed his lower lip.

He looked at her in a tender way she hadn't seen before. He leaned his head against her palm, smearing salve over his cheek.

"You're savin' me, you're really doin' it... I shouldn't have doubted you for a minute," he said.

She rested her thumb on his mouth, effectively silencing him. He didn't fight to speak, for once falling into silence as she rubbed the rest of the salve under his shirt, showing glimpses of rib and muscle revealed to the light.

She turned, pulling off the gloves. "You've been forgetting to take your tablets, haven't you?" she said

"Ran out," he said. "Shame doc ain't around."

She took a sharp look at him. "You haven't been hoading anymore Bonk on the sly, have you?"

"N-nah!" he said too quickly. "T-totally not! I mean, where would I even get it? Can't just go to a vendin' machines. Miss it, though. Miss it and the matches a whooole lot."

He rubbed the back of his bloodied, bandage hand at the corner of his mouth.

"...Am I gonna be like this for the rest of my life? I guess my numbers are numbered, heh," he said. He rubbed at his cheek, trying to put on a brave face even as his body slowly deteriorated.

"...No, you won't. Not on my watch," she said.

"Oooh, that's so awesome. Your super hero name is totally Fierce Bitcherella," Scout said.

"I'm picking my own hypothetical super villain name, thank you very much," she said.

He snickered, wiping at the makeshift cream.

"Let it stick," she said.

"It _itches,_ " he said.

"It's supposed to. That means it's working," she said.

"What, am I goin' to shed my skin or somethin'? Oh, it'll be like somethin' out of The Fly!"

"The what?"

"The Fly—it's a real classic, you really never seen it?"

"I never had time for movies," she said.

First came throwing herself into studies, then came throwing herself into work. It was a never ending cycle.

"Seriously? You never seen it?" He shook his head. "I'll fix that. At least tell me you've seen The Blob."

She shook her head.

"Invasion of the Body Snatchers? The Thing That Couldn't Die—man, that one was good—oh, and The Creature From The Black Lagoon—"

"I haven't seen a movie since..." She mentally calculated. "Grade school. Othello was the one. I preferred the original stage version."

"None at all? Geez, I'm fixin' this before I leave. Nobody should go without seein' The Fly in their life," Scout said.

He leaned against the cabinet, his hands behind his head.

"So, I'm probably toxic and stuff," he said.

"There's no 'probably' about it. You're lucky that you constantly strike out with every woman around, or I'd have more bodies to bury," she said.

"Damn, you're dangerous when you're jealous. Fur is gonna frickin' fly—I'd bet on you against the other girls, personally. Then again, there's really no comparin'. I'd pick you every time."

She handed him glass of water. "Did you really run all this way?"

He tipped up the glass and took a sip. "You that surprised?"

"Boston is thousands of miles from here," she said.

"Hey, I'd run millions of miles just to see you," he said. Water spilled down his shirt, cutting his attempt at a romantic moment short. He leaned back against the cabinet in weariness.

"Don't tell nobody, but I'm gettin' too old for this stuff," he said.

"You're only twenty-three," she said.

"That's like, forty-three in dog years," Scout said.

That didn't even begin to make sense, but most things about Scout didn't. He shouldn't logically have lived through that amount of refined Australium and radiation, but he did. She shouldn't be able to jump as high as he could, but he thumbed his nose at gravity on a regular basis.

Scout had begun to droop, his head on the side of the cabinet. 

"I'll finish cleaning up," she said. "Do you have a hotel room booked for the night?"

"You're goin' to kick me to the curb? That's harsh, Miss P."

She crossed her arms. "You could afford to _buy_ the hotel room. Besides, all I have extra is a couch."

Scout grinned, and she held her hand up before he said anything more. "–and that's all you'd be sleeping on, if you stayed here."

"Nah, it's good. I got some cash on me, though I gave a bunch to Soldier for his new cardboard box. It's got a waterfront view, you know. Of course, it's of the sewer–"

He pushed himself up with some effort. 

"Just let me catch my breath," he said. He leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, and brightened when he looked out to her plain, uncluttered livingroom. One couch, two chairs, all deep brown, the kind that would easily conceal dirt. She hadn't gotten to decorating further. It suited her needs well enough.

"Hey, you _do_ have a TV! And here I thought you were a radio and books kind of girl."

"Actually, you're correct in that assumption. It came with the house, and I rarely use it," she said.

"Poor thing is lonely. I'll keep you company, Mr. Squiggly," he said.

She looked out to where he had bent the rabbit ears antenna this way and that until the screen came free from the static. "Success!"

"You've named it _Mr. Squiggly_?" 

"Sure, I name all kinds of stuff. My gun, my bag, _other things_ —"

"Uh-huh. Well, you and Mr. Squiggly have fun. Try not to rob too many banks together," she said.

"Heheh, I woudn't leave to do any robbin' without you!"

"Good to know," she said.

She returned back to the kitchen. The salve had been streaked across the floor. _Just another day._ She'd certainly been exposed to plenty of radiation or refined Australium over the years, and it hadn't killed her yet. 

Just ten years ago, the thought of being so glib about radiation would be unthinkable. But here she was, taking care of a radioactive mercenary and hoping he wouldn't find a way to off himself in the process before she could find a way to get him back into Respawn.

There wasn't a Respawn anymore. No data transferrals, or updating to worry about. Just days in an office where the biggest drama was the boss's many affairs, and she came home early every night.

It was only after she'd finished packing everything away, that she realized the house was quiet. She found him face down, conked out on her couch. On one hand, having a radioactive former coworker who was very interested in her staying at her house was not the smartest idea. Then again, she kept having to remind herself that her every move wasn't being watched anymore. She could spend time with him without fear of any disciplinary action at all, though her neighbor would be disappointed to not pair Miss Pauling off with her nephew.

She leaned against the wall, watching him. He'd thrown off the blanket in his fitful sleep. He was one turn away from falling face-first into the floor, and smashing into the glass and good coffee table on the way.

The last thing she needed was to have to rush him to a hospital. She'd have to forge papers, keep a low profile, and knowing Scout, he just might say some top secret thing if he was nervous, drugged, or any of the nurses were attractive.

She bent down and tugged at the blanket.

He shifted, groaning and curling more under the blanket.

"Doan wanna go t' school...."

She tugged again, and he reluctantly, groggily looked out. 

"Come on, get up," she said.

He pushed himself up, teetering a moment in sleepiness, bumping into her and resting his head against her shoulder a second, before being dislodged as she began to pull out the brown couch cushions. She arranged them on the floor, moving the coffee table enough to slip them there.

"'ight, beautiful," he said, pushing his face under the covers. She smoothed the blankets, and pushed the table a little further out, hoping that he wouldn't manage to trip himself in the night.

She'd call in a hotel room for him tomorrow morning. 

She stayed there a little longer, just watching him move in his sleep. The house wasn't empty any longer. This gave her far more comfort than she allowed herself to admit. It'd been so very long since she'd woken up to men cursing, the loud sounds of a never ending war over gravel just outside her window.

She never thought she'd miss it.

*

When she woke up that morning, he was asleep on his stomach with the pillow halfway across the room. The blanket was pulled up so high that his legs were uncovered, but his face was hidden under red plaid.

"I need to do more shopping today," she said.

Scout pushed down the plaid blanket, peering out eagerly at her. He got tangled up in a moment in the blanket, kicking his powerful legs and almost falling straight on his face. Somehow—it was all far too quick for her to see–he'd untangled himself and landed upright from the mess. His hair was in all directions, which probably explained the hair oil. 

"Nailed it! Also, I'm comin'," he said.

"You still aren't well," she said.

"I'm strong enough, really! I mean, if I ran all this way, I think I can handle a little _grocery shoppin',_ " he said.

She bent to pull on her heels. "If you can keep up, you can come," she said.

"Yeah, I gotta shower. Seeya in two?"

He didn't wait for her reply. Scout took a leap out of the makeshift bed, scattering the blanket and cushions in his wake. He nearly hit the wall, grabbing the edge to swing straight down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Scoooore!" he called out, over the sound of running water.

She leaned back in the sole wicker chair–she hadn't gotten around to filling the living room much, yet. Not when she was always convinced everything would come back around, that this would be only temporary.

*

He tossed the head of lettuce up and caught it, grinning like he'd made some huge achievement. 

"I gotta eat lots of salads to kick this, right?"

Honestly, she hadn't a clue. She'd followed orders from Medic, and made sure Scout actually followed those orders. Understanding Medic was no simple feat–she wasn't sure Medic himself understood his own depraved, manic fits of genius. She hadn't dug deeper, and it was only her talent for memorization that she even remembered this far.

"I...suppose," she said.

He didn't catch the hesitance in her voice. He had a bag of celery in one hand, a full head of lettuce in the other, with a single green pepper balanced against his side.

"Rabbit food for the champion rabbit, eh...I guess I could do that if I gets me up and runnin' again."

He broke off and began to cough. The vegetables he'd been holding fell to the ground as he coughed. He bent over, his face contorted in pain with each hacking cough. Blood stained the newly applied bandages over his hands.

She reached out to touch his shoulder, then drew back.

"You goin' to patch me up? ....Good," he said.

"When you're too tired to make an innuendo-filled joke, you're too tired to be up."

"I could try harder," he said. 

"That isn't necessary," she said.

She bent to pick up the vegetables he'd dropped. Into the cart they went, only a little worse for the wear. 

"Do you need a moment to rest?"

"Nah, I'm—" he took a deep breath, and tried to smile. "I'll be good, just let me catch my breath."

She waited for him to regain his balance. For the sake of his pride, she didn't offer her hand to help him up. 

"So, you never did tell me what you're up to these days," Scout said. 

"I'm a secretary at the local hat factory. It's rather...quiet, compared to working at TF Industries," she said. She pushed strands of her dark hair back in place. "I'm going to assume you haven't gotten any new work? Unless you're some kind of messenger."

"Naaaah, I ain't looked. No reason to, when the group's comin' back any day now," he said. "And if I was you, I'd be ready to blow that hat joint and catch the ride right back to the TFI asap!"

"And if it doesn't return? Redmond and Blutarch are dead. Gray Mann defeated us. There isn't even technically a reason for the bases to exist anymore—" 

"'course it is! I mean, this is just a little setback. It ain't a _real_ defeat, the guy didn't even play fair. I mean, bringin' a _kid_ in there to whoop old man Hale? If this was a boxin' match, it'd be thrown right out."

"Do you need anything else?"

"Well, if you're askin'...." He grinned suggestively.

Before she could shoot him down yet again, he pulled out a box of pancakes and held it to his chest. "Ain't the same as the kind ma makes, but man if I don't miss them like crazy."

He looked so eager, even with the possibility of a mess to clean up, she couldn't quite bring herself to tell him no.

"I'll make you some tomorrow morning," she said. 

"And eggs? And bacon, too? Oh, oh, and real maple syrup?"

"Put it in the cart," she said. 

More things made their way to the cart. She just put another box of chips in with the rest. He couldn't make a dent in her savings if he tried, let alone with a box of cereal, some milk and some bacon.

Two aisles away, a fair-haired slight girl rung up the groceries. She let out a little sigh internally, as she knew very well just what sorts of trouble Scout could get into.

But even as he caught sight of her, he didn't approach. Instead, he stayed near as the lean, pimply-faced bag boy rung up the purchases and bagged them. It was only after she'd paid and they left that the turned to him.

"Blondes aren't your type now?" Miss Pauling said.

As far as she knew, his type was 'breathing and female.'

She felt a stab of emotion which was in no way jealous. Irritation at his unprofessional behavior, but nothing more. 

"Nah, I made my choice," Scout said. "Besides, I ain't on my game right now. I'd probably puke blood down her chest or somethin'. Most chicks don't dig that."

He walked backwards, unable to keep smiling and watching her. He was still much slower than before. It hadn't dampened his general exuberance, though.

"You're going to run into one of those cars," she said.

"Nah, I got thii—" 

She heard an oof, and the sound of bag crunching.

"I told you so," she said.

"Jeez, you are right all the friggin' time," he said.

"Did you drop anything?" Miss Pauling said.

"Nope! Home free! Think we could have pancakes for dinner? With the sauce, and the bacon, and more of the sauce?"

Back when she'd worked at TF Industries, she rarely had time to cook for herself. Her choices were either eat at the cafeteria, or eat out. Still, she wasn't completely rusty from her home ec lessons back in school.

"I suppose," she said.

"All right!"

He leapt up, and somehow managed to still not drop the contents of the bag, though it was good they hadn't purchased anything that could be broken, like chips.

"—that is, if you don't get yourself killed between now and then," she said.

"Hey, I'm pretty hardy," he said.

"Really, now? Last I remember, you'd go down pretty fast in the heat of battle," she said.

"That was when the bullets could even _hit me_ , I'd be all nyooooom, and rushin' through and they'd go right by me. Probably stopped cold, stunned by how handsome I am. But you know that, you saw me be amazin' alllll the time. I mean, _all the time_ , right? Right, of course you did—"

She walked on out to her truck. The night had grown colder, stars indiscernible past the fog of clouds. 

"This, this ain't nothin' compared to the nor'easters up in Boston. You should try it! A tough girl like you could make a Boston winter your bitch anytime! And other Boston things yours, too—"

Of course, everything about him—and his hometown––was bigger, better, faster and more handsome. Leave it to Scout to always find a way to stretch the truth as far as he could.

*

She sliced a lemon in pieces, the sharp scent lingering on her hands as she squeezed out the juice into water. 

His mouth twisted into a grimace as he downed it in a quick gulp. There was no blood on his teeth this time, no hint of blood in his mouth. He couldn't have healed _that_ fast, not without some of Medic's inventions or Respawn, at least.

She placed the knife in the sink, only to hear a muffled sound behind her. He grinned with a lemon slice stuck in his mouth. It only took a second before he spat it out, and started to cough.  
This wasn't a good sign. Miners who had found the original lot of Australium had died with their lungs turned black.

People who worked at TF Industries rarely lived long enough to face the symptoms of the radiation and Australium they worked with.

"—kay, not doin' that again. Man, this is the shittiest, stupidist, most drawn out death I ever did have. It'd suck for it to be the last."

"You're not dying," she said. 

"Sure feels like I am," he said.

"Once you start on a regimen of tablets and salve, you'll get better. In fact, I promise it."

Her words sounded hollow and forced to herself. She knew the statistics. But relief came over him, as he looked up at her with such trust. She had grown very good at lying throughout the years, though he was never hard to lie to. He had a desperate need to believe everything she said.

"You're right. I shouldn't have doubted you for a second, Miss P," Scout said.

He held up two of his fingers, like a salute. He looked up like he was waiting.

"What?" she said.

"Tryin' out stuff for our very own Dread Duo. C'mon, touch your fingers to mine, it'll be like a high-five, but cooler."

She touched her finger to his. He brightened at the contact, all memories of pain and weakness forgotten.

"See, first step is a win," Scout said. He lifted his arm triumphant, and almost knocked himself over in the process.

"It could use some work," she said.

"Practice makes perfect," Scout said.

"You're going to have to practice with yourself, I have to make dinner," she said.

It was only after she said it that she realized just how unintentionally suggestive that was.

Scout coughed and wiped blood from his mouth. Instead of a bad come on, all he had was a grimace.

She cast her attention on the pan, the clatter and oil of beginning to cook, and not him dying by degrees inches away from her. 

*

His back was flat against the floor, his legs propped up on the cushions of the couch. She'd stopped trying to make sense of him; it was as pointless as trying to figure out a cat. The plate was licked clean pushed aside to the coffee table.

"Those were some pancakes," he said.

"It's just a store mix, but thank you," she said.

"Still, you cook great...you know, I tried to call Soldier, but he thinks aliens are listenin' through his phone and only uses soup cans, and they get shitty coverage," Scout said.

"Didn't he break both your arms last time you saw him?" Miss Pauling said.

"It was an accident, though. These things happen," he said.

He shifted a little closer to her, until his hip was against her foot. 

"I bet doc is like, this grumpy old bird man somewhere. Just feedin' pigeons. He's probably lonely now that I ain't around to come visit. Snipes is probably still pissin' in jars in his van somewhere, not even callin' anyone, and does Engineer even leave his workroom without anybody to bring him sandwiches? I really wonder."

He saw the world in golden hues, himself the center and hero. He saw himself as some connecting line, that the team couldn't stand to be without.

And even still, he cared far more than she'd suspected him capable of. Even through all his rosy delusions of the world, he'd clung to these few mercenaries, some who didn't even like him, as a surrogate family. And now not distance, not sickness or injury could keep him away.

"...of course they are," she said.

She'd learned to lie well in these past years, but he readily ate up any story. Maybe he would never realize that not every coworker wanted to be close, saw him as he saw them. Either way, she wouldn't be the one to tell him.

"Yeah, you're right...you're always right," he said, bumping her foot with his hip.

"Means I gotta go in a bit. But I'll be back, Miss P. Trust me, I'll _always_ be back for you. We're all gonna be back together one day, fightin' and yellin' at each other like old times. It'll be great."

She rested her hand on his shin. "You aren't going anywhere until your health improves."

"Of course not. I wouldn't want you to be lonely. The rest of the guys will just have to deal for a little while."

Of course he'd think the world would be falling to pieces the minute he wasn't there.

*

Weeks passed, and he grew stronger. Somehow, despite everything, the Refined Australium and Radiation hadn't done him in. Sometimes she thought it was pure force of will that kept Scout from falling apart.

She came home from work to find him wrapped up in blankets watching children's cartoons. There were several empty cereal bowls seemingly hidden all over the house. She'd put up her coat and find a cereal bowl there, go to open the fridge and another cereal bowl right next to the milk.

She flipped a plastic cereal bowl upside onto his head, like a hat. He caught the spoon and put it right on his nose.

"By the way, it's your turn to do dishes," she said.

Milk dripped down his cheek, but all he did was laugh.

"I used to do that to my brothers all the time. By the way—" He held up the newspaper. "Hey, he TV said there's goin' to be a marathon showin' of horror classics tonight. We should go, just you and me and The Fly. Great, huh? Really, it's a crime that you never saw any of them."

She took the paper from him and looked over the article. The only thing she would be missing would be time with the book on her nightstand. She'd never known what to do with herself when she wasn't working to the bone. Even over summer holidays back as a child she felt restless without any work to fill the hours.

Something new?

She looked him over, and it wasn't just films. She knew that years later, she would think back on this moment and think of it as the defining moment. He'd pulled the blanket tight about him and his bowl-hat, though the spoon had fallen off to his lap.

"It can't hurt," she finally said.

"Yes!" He punched his fist up.

In his excitement, the bowl fell from his head to the floor below.

*

The marquee was lit up. _Horror Classics! Saxton Hale versus the Tentacle Machine, The Blob, The Fly–_ The rest was listed on the other side.

One of the blinking lights was out, whiles others shone too bright. It was a good metaphor for the town itself. Built on gravel, it'd shone bright on the edges of TF Industries' work, but now it was falling to ruins. Several shops downtown had closed down. Without the revenue, soon others would join them, until the bases, and Teufort itself, would be nothing more than empty husks of old buildings. 

Scout brought the biggest carton of popcorn he could get, and two big drinks, balanced so well that she wondered if he had experience as a waiter.

"You ready for some of this? A whole marathon of scary stuff—" He gave her a sly, sidelong glance. "You can cling to me if you get too scared."

He was so excited, he was practically vibrating in his chair. They'd gotten the last block of tickets, so the theater was mostly empty, save for few twelve year old boys sitting at the very front row.

She'd thought to point out that this was most definitely _not_ a date, but he was so engrossed, she didn't mention it. At this rate, it was a date in all but name. —and maybe it'd even be official, if he didn't try and cop a feel in the dark.

The screen flickered, and organ music played. She supposed it was supposed to give a sinister air, but all it reminded her of was long Sundays spent in sundresses, resisting the urge to kick up her heels as the sermon went on and on.

"–Oh, oh, wait for it—!"

He shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. He had buttery residue all over his face. She really had no idea how he managed to get it on his forehead. His eyes were riveted to the screen.

He yawned and stretched a moment, and then rested his arm on the back of the seat, just behind her neck. It was the oldest trick in the book, but she didn't push him away.

Just as the thing appeared, she heard a shriek. Really, those children were far too young for this—She felt pressure against her arm and looked. Scout had hidden behind her, his face buried against her. He looked back up, not even pretending to be manly.

"T-that was nothin', just startled me, is all!" 

She held out her arm and let him entwine his fingers about her wrist. _I'm going to have to be the one to kill all the spiders, aren't I?_. It'd come without even meaning to, the thoughts of a future 

*

"Good thing I was there for when you got scared, huh, Miss Pauling? It's great to have a big strong guy there to cling to–"

She needed to write a Scout-to-English dictionary. It would be passed out to anyone who ever met Scout, so they could understand his particular dialect of bullshit. Before she could say a word, he'd already caught sight of something else.

"Ooh, is that a _pizza place?_ " 

As if he'd experienced a sharp, magnetic pull, he leapt across the street and pushed his face against the glass.

"It is! Oh, that smells so damn _good!_ Wanna go eat?"

He didn't wait for a reply, and instead bolted into the store. This would definitely knock it into date territory. With only a moment's thought, she shrugged it off. If she'd come this far, she might as well go all the way.

Other than the elderly proprietor, no one else was inside the pizza place, which was no surprise, as it was nearly midnight. The pizza place was decorated in red and black checked pattern all over the place, from the tiles, to the walls, to the table cloths. In fact, looking at the menu, that was the title. A design scheme like that made the whole room seem to ooze together, almost like something from one of Scout's horror movies. 

"Hey, Miss P, what do you want on your pizza?"

She pushed up her glasses and studied the menu.

"Meat lovers special for me, and don't put any vegetables on that, if I want veggies, I'd get a frickin' salad."

"You ate some at home," she said.

"That's different, you made it, so of course I'm goin' to eat it," he said.

She caught the slip only after she'd said it—listing _home_ as if it was a place that belonged to both of them. 

Herbs, cheese and olives, with extra olive oil and garlic.

"Olives, yechgh," he said. He grimaced, pushing out his tongue.

"Once you've eaten as much Greek food as I have, you get used to it. Food doesn't even taste right if it isn't slathered in enough olive oil to drown in."

"Pauling don't sound like a Greek name," Scout said. He studied her, leaning against the glass case of pies and pizza slices.

"It isn't," she replied.

"So, you're sayin' you _ain't_ Greek? Hmmmm, you're a woman of mystery, you know that? But I'm goin' to figure it out eventually. I'm goin' to—" he looked over to the side, something bright and shiny catching his attention. "Ooh, pinball machine—you know, I'm a huge pinball wizard back home. I got all the best scores."

He flipped out a quarter from his pocket. "I put on the best show around."

He licked his lips as he pushed furiously at the flippers. The pinball machine lit up, and the display was complete with several scantily clad woman about a pool table. His gaze kept going up from the ball, only to have him suddenly realize the ball had gone straight past his flippers. The machine lit up, and demanded more quarters.

"Hey, that don't count, I'm off my game today, I'll do better next time," he said.

"You're just distracted," she said.

"Women, my only weakness," he said.

"I don't know, fire seems to work pretty well.

He shuddered. "No talkin' about _that._ "

Their pizza had come, so she wandered back to the table which could've easily seated four. Scout came with some reluctance; he hated being shown up, especially when he had talked himself up so much.

Scout chewed two pieces at a time, cheese dripping from his mouth. It didn't stop him from attempting to talk, though he was even harder to understand him than usual. In between pieces, he frowned down at her neatly arranged plate. 

"A fork, really?" Scout said.

She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "I don't like my fingers getting burnt and greasy. Also, I like to chew my food before I eat it, rather than swallowing it whole."

"Is that a dare? Because I could totally do this–"

"No, it's—" She couldn't help but laugh as he shoved enough pizza in his mouth to puff up his cheeks like a hamster. 

"You're going to choke to death—" 

He held up his hand and with some effort, swallowed.

"Did you miss the lesson on chewing?" she said.

"Funny, my ma said the same thing. Besides, back at home, you don't get seconds. It's a battle for the food, and any of my brothers could take it off my plate, and when it was gone, it was gone."

She took her knife and cut another slice into small pieces.

"All right, I'll eat like some fancy fuck so I don't get myself killed. It'd suck to die like that—besides, I don't wanna be makin' you cry."

"I'd hate to have to explain when the team gets together that you ate pizza until you died," she said.

"You're right! Forks it is!"

He pulled her fork from her hands and sucked on the tines, as if it being in her mouth made the sauce that much more delicious. 

She cleared her throat, and caught the attention of the stout, balding proprietor. "I'd like another fork, please. My companion turned into an overgrown five year old again," she said. 

"Again?" Scout said.

"Should I have said 'always' instead?" Miss Pauling said.

"Five, hell, I can bring this down to two year old if I work on it!" He flipped his napkin at her.

"That really isn't necessary," she said.

"I'm—way more than necessary and, uh," he trailed off, not able to think of some witty-yet-suggestive comeback.

"You've got sauce all over yourself. At this rate, you'd need a bib," she said.

"You sound like my ma." He took a bite, and on her watch, chewed slowly.

"That was actually....really good," Scout said.

"If you wolf down your food, you don't get a chance to truly savor it," she said.

"Huh. I learn new stuff all the time. Thanks for the teachin', Miss Pauling! I'll definitely take it to heart, and I bet ma will love that I finally got cleaned up—she'll just be tickled pink!"

"For our next lesson: Napkins aren't merely decorative," she said.

He stuck his tongue out and put his crumpled napkin on his head. "They can be hats if I say so."

"You just had to push the limits to get that 'most likely to act like a toddler' award, didn't you?" Miss Pauling said.

"Hell yeah, pushin' all the limits. I win all the awards, baby! _All the awards!_ "

Outside cars drove on by, lights fading in the dark. She could see a reflection of them in the glass, and even in those faint lines, she could see the happiness so evident not only in his own face, but hers as well.

"I'd like a carton to go," she said to the proprietor.

"Really, you ain't even goin' to finish one pizza in a sittin'? I can finish two, easy," he said.

"If I save it now, we can eat it for breakfast," she said.

"Whoa, you'd share your _pizza_ with me? Now _that_ 's love," he said.

Before she could deny it, he had already changed the subject, his face against the glass. "Whoa, nice cars."

"Oh, you," she said under her breath as she picked up the check.

*

He'd boughten a notebook somewhere before here. It was filled with scribbles, and the occasional rude drawing, numbers and addresses and some kind of thing about stars and...trek? His handwriting was barely legible at the best of times. There was a reason he did all of his family correspondence by telephone, and it wasn't just how much he loved to talk.

"I was lookin' for that! Throw it here!"

She handed it to him, instead; her throw always was rather weak, and her aim not much better.

He poked the rabbit ears again, and the static pulled back as a ship in space sailed over the screen. He pulled out a pen from his back, and licked his lips as he started to write.

"Another hobby of yours?"

"Oh yeah, the guys and me used to watch this. Well, Demoman, Soldier and Engineer. Spy was too frickin' high and mighty for it. Demoman made it into a drinkin' game, and Soldier thought it was real life–he kept tryin' to get beamed up. We eventually got Heavy in when he heard Chekov, and Medic came along too. And we'd all stay up watching it every week, discussin' what old Captain Kirk was goin' to do this time."

Scout rubbed at his neck. He looked down, a somberness coming over him. "But, they probably ain't goin' to remember to watch, and even if they do, it ain't the same. Nothin's the same without everybody all together like it's supposed to! I gotta tell them what happened. They been missin' it these weeks. They ain't even called, so I gotta go to them.. Really, was it that hard to spare a quarter? Whatever, I'll give them an earful when I get there!"

She sat down on the couch, close enough to feel his body heat seeping through—for such a skinny guy, he never seemed to get cold. He was always filled with a boundless sort of energy, burning deep at his core.

"Is that string and maccaroni?" she said, as they pulled open a part of the ship.

"Heh, probably. Looks like somethin' Soldier built," Scout said.

He leaned back as a commercial came on advertizing Mann's hair oil _made with real Mannlinesss!_

"So, there's this guy called Spock, right? He's all logical and crap, then there's this great guy called Captain Kirk, and he's the boss guy—ladies love him—and there's Uhura, the awesome leadin' lady, and Bones, and Chekov–"

He went on, explaining too quickly for the facts to take hold. She leaned her chin on her palm as she watched something which should've been utterly cheesy—especially as she'd worked with comparable machinery, and could tell the prop makers what the inside of a high tech ship didn't look like.

And yet, she found herself enjoying the ride. Scout couldn't keep still or quiet, mocking the enemies and idolizing Captain Kirk. But, it was more fun than going alone. Sometimes she'd even laugh behind her hand, coved up as a cough. By the time it was over, she was more than ready to take in more adventures of the space crew, or horror movies classics.

"So, you goin' to be up for our weekly watchins when we all get this group back together? I'll save a seat near me, just for you," Scout said.

"Unlikely—Fraternizing with the employees is strictly forbidden," she said. "And yes, that means everything from coffee to...."

 _All the things you want to do with and to me_ came to mind, though she wasn't about to say that.

"—other things."

He clutched the pen and notebook so hard that she thought it might break under the pressure. His lips were pulled back in a snarl—made quite a bit less threatening by his buck teeth. "What kind of frickin' crappy policy is that? You can't even get some food with us without gettin' laid into? That's frickin' _bullshit!_ "

"You're welcome to speak to the Administrator—she's the one who personally implemented the rule," Miss Pauling said dryly.

"Yeah, maybe I _will!_ "

"I wouldn't recommend it. She could do things to you that you couldn't even imagine. And that's if she doesn't make me do them to you to prove her point....Being taken out of Respawn and being fired would be kind by comparison."

"No breaks, you can't talk to nobody—sheesh, when this all gets back together, you should go tell the dragon lady you won't stand for bein' treated like utter crap!" Scout gestured angrily, unable to stop moving. He talked with his hands—how his mother always described 'talking like an Italian' with showy hand movements to punctuate everything he said.

"Nobody tells her anything," Miss Pauling said. "And I had a ample pay and benefits. It isn't as if I'm left bereft."

And they didn't kill her, so that spoke to how important she was to TF Industries. 

"–Ample pay and benefits? Unless they were givin' you half the world to rule over, they weren't payin' you right for all you do for them—nah, make that _all_ the world."

"You want me to take over the world?" Miss Pauling said.

"Well, yeah. That's what the super villain duo is all about, Miss P," Scout said.

She hadn't ever realized he'd had that much faith and loyalty towards her. She'd assumed he had at the very most a precocious crush on her. Something which would go away the minute he saw the next pretty thing a skirt.

"Maybe I'll renegotiate a few terms of my contract," she said.

"No maybes about it, stuff's got to change. Startin' with TV nights and more breaks. And I'll punch every wall until it happens," Scout said.

She shook her head, chuckling slightly. "I don't think punching walls is going to do much good, Scout," she said.

"Headbuttin' the walls?"

She shook her head again.

"Jump kickin' the walls like frickin' awesome?"

"Only if they're metaphorical," she said.

Scout scrunched up his face , deep in thought. "How do you kick a wall like _that,_ though? Do I need metaphorical lasers or somethin'?"

"I'll–get back with you on that. I need to get ready for bed—I have work tomorrow."

Now would be the time to kick him off to a hotel, but with his arms tight about a couch pillow, he looked too comfy to throw out into the cold.

"Night, Miss P. Sweet dreams," he said. For once, he made no further suggestive comments.

She supposed it wouldn't hurt him to stay another night.

*

She hadn't even gotten her shoes on, but he was already up and ready. She'd rarely seen him willingly get up this early, but she supposed that explained why there was a pot of coffee made in the kitchen and half of it gone.

He didn't have much, but what he did was packed up into his bag and thrown over his shoulder. He gave a half salute-wave, the two finger deal he'd been working on for weeks. 

"So, I got a call from 'the mothership'—that's what Soldier named his apartment. Apparently, he says payphones are safe, but I gotta get up there. He's doin' these celebrity tours for old bags these days, makes good money on them, too."

He stretched. He was looking everywhere but at her as he talked, something she'd almost never seen him do. Even on the battlefield he'd ignore everything else the minute he caught sight of her, even if it got him killed.

"Um. I never was good at goodbyes...but that's fine, 'cause this ain't goodbye. It's a see you later, 'cause you damn well know I'm goin' to be comin' back soon. Seriously, one of these days you'll look up and be all 'who is that incredibly charmin' and handsome man' and I'll burst through the door and go 'it's me!'"

His imagination was as overactive as ever.

"Be careful," she said.

He turned towards her, finally meeting her eyes.

"Aw, shucks. I ain't goin' to start any wars. In fact, I'll stay away from even bar fights just for you, and I love me some bar fights. Demoman and me got in some real good ones—never try and take his drink, by the way."

"I'm not much of a Cider drinker, but I'll keep that in mind," she said.

He lingered at the door, his gaze on her mouth.

"So, um. By the way, Miss Pauling...."

She could've pulled back, but she didn't. They just stood there, him at a loss for words, and her not pulling away, knowing very well that in the next few seconds, he could take her hand and kiss her. He'd probably try for a movie style kiss, and fail utterly. And yet, he'd probably be endearing in his failure. 

He pulled her suddenly to him, a quick hug. She barely had time to register or even return the gesture, as he immediately drew away at the contact. His face was completely flushed, even to his ears.

"You fit well. I mean, uh, see you! It's been great, and I'll be back!"

He leapt off the porch, taking off at a run. The bag was slung over his shoulder, and bounced as he faded into the distance.

She closed the door and leaned against the cool glass. Nothing had gone as she expected, and for once, she even felt a little disappointed. She shook it off.

It was nothing more than a morning haze which would clear. Soon she'd wonder what she'd even been thinking. But she knew that long after reason had come back from his whirlwind of energy and deluded dreams, this feeling would remain.

*

The room was quiet. There was the faint hum of the TV indiscernible in the other room, but it wasn't enough. Had she really gotten used to his company that easily? Or was it that she had been waiting for this all along?

She didn't have the heart to tell him that some of the men likely hadn't thought of the absence like he did, and certainly didn't wish to hear from him anymore than they had to. She'd protect that deluded endless hope of his with the same tenacity that she'd once reserved for guarding TF Industries secrets.

*   
She caught the phone on the second ring. Her hair dripped wet down her neck, her glasses were still fogged up from the shower. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, Miss P! Guess what?"

"Well, I'm going to guess that you're still alive," she said dryly.

"Yeah, you got that one right! Another correct answer is that I'm the handsomest, most awesome alive guy around. Oh, and I found Soldier. But that's not the important part—I figured it out, Miss P! We'll be _Private Eyes!_ And we'll solve crime, all hardboilded like. Or maybe do it, then solve it, I don't know, ain't got the details quite right yet."

"I thought we all we being super heroes or super villains," she said.

"Hey, we can multitask," he replied. "You were always great at that."

She twisted the cord of the phone in her hands. "You're the sidekick now?"

"I'm the big muscley protection man! Just leave the punchin' guys to me, Miss P!"

She heard a series of beeps over the phone, and a few choice curses from him.

"Ey, I'm out of quarters and time. I'll call you at the next stop. Oh, and if any guys are messin' with you, just tell them I'll track them down and beat their heads in."

"You're the only one that does that and you–"

"I know, I know, I ain't your guy, but they don't know that. Remember, you're the brains, and I'm the brawn. I bring extreme handsomeness to the table, too, but you got that as well—It ain't good to be without the brawns of the operation, you know? I gotta punch people in the face and save the day for your brilliant plans to work."

The phone cut off abruptly. She put it back in the cradle and waited for it to ring. Minutes passed, and she stretched, waiting.

He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

She expected him to fish out some quarters just for that, even if he had to steal them from someone to get those few minutes, or hold up a store.

She hoped he wasn't trying to hold up stores again. He'd attempted a few before working at TF Industries, and he really had no knack for planning. 

It wasn't his voice on the phone that greeted her.

"Hi, I'm—"

There was a sound over the line, a voice behind her. It crackled and cut away, but she came on clear a moment later.

"—he said my boy might be here."

"Yes, Hello Mrs. Dempsey," she said. "Your son is somewhere in Texas right now, trying to track down another coworker at the moment, though he was here a while ago. He just called, in fact."

"He's been pale, is everythin' all right with him? I keep tryin' to get him to go to a doctor, but he never was very good with doctors. Half the time he'd try and punch them out."

"He's—"

She stopped herself before she even hinted at Bonk.

"—recovering nicely. I applied medical treatment, and he should be back on his tablets. He's already talking about forming some kind of ah, group with all his friends and myself."

"That's my boy, always a dreamer," Scout's mother said, her voice filled with affection. "Keep an eye on him, will you? He gets into so much trouble. He's always tryin' to give me gray hairs."

"It's rather hard to do with him being thousands upon thousands of miles away, but I'll do my best to update you every phone call."

*

Weeks would pass between hearing from him. In the hurry, he'd forgotten his notebook, but she kept vigil every week. Her neat handwriting filled in the spaces between the mess of scribbles and notes. With each new episode, she filled more of the notebook. She'd found she actually enjoyed having the television on, just for a bit of noise. Even if some of the things she was rotting her brain with were utterly preposterous, they reminded her of the sorts of things that used to be so commonplace. 

All along, she'd been living in a bad science fiction soap opera all those years. Who knew?

Every day was marked by his absence. She'd go to discuss something with him, to tell him something, only to remember yet again that he was gone. In between the loneliness was a sliver of irritation. The one time she wanted him around, he had to run off. For all she knew, he'd gone and gotten himself killed _again_ , to a place where Respawn or Medic's inventions couldn't even help.

He hadn't been completely recovered, but she if she couldn't keep him there, no one could. She worked in her new, mundane life. Half in the world of dreams and heroes of his creating, half stuck in memories of a time she never could quite let go.

*

The answering machine blinked red. In all the time she'd stayed here, she'd never even had a chance to use the clunky thing. She pushed the large button, and heard a long beep as the first and only message played.

_Hey, this is your favorite, most handsome superhero around liiiive from Austin. Wouldn't you know it, Engie just ain't on the map, or anywhere. I bet he went supervillain and has a doom ray in his underground lab. That asshole, we were goin' to be the super villains! We'll get him back, Bruiserella. Oh, and before she tracks me down and kills me, tell my ma I love her. Speak of that, I really l—_

The call cut off. She replayed it just to hear his stupid, too loud voice with all the laughter, and preposterous dreams caught within.

*

The note had no identifying marks. She didn't have to look it over to know that there would be no fingerprints, no secret address, and no way of tracing it. The Administrator never stood for such careless mistakes. 

_Reassemble the team_ it said.

She turned it over, but of course, there was nothing more. The Administrator never did waste time with pleasantries.

There were moments when she wished for nothing more than a little bit of peace and quiet. But these six months she'd wanted nothing more than to have to brush the blood from her shoes, to hear the gasps and groans of dead men who'd be living again in less than a minute.

His dream was coming true. No, not simply his. Her dream as well. _We had the same dream in the end....oh, he'd have a field day with that one._

He'd be so excited to know this. He hadn't wavered in a moment in his belief that one day, they'd all be some big happy family, the kind that only existed in his dreams. A world without the scars and harshness of his compatriots, where every hard word, broken bone and bit of violence was just a different way of showing their familial caring.

She'd start with the rest, for Scout was bound to be with one of them. If not, then he'd find her. That was one sure thing, he would always find her, even if he had to run all night to do so.


End file.
